Sirius, On Peter
by Half-BPrincess
Summary: Sirius's thoughts on Peter Pettigrew, after he is imprisoned in Azkaban. One-shot.


When pressed to give a reason, Sirius would always state that he had kept his sanity, despite the years of torturous imprisonment in Azkaban, because he had held on to the knowledge of his innocence. Usually, there would be a moment of silence, broken by joking challenge to his sanity, from Remus, perhaps, or Tonks, or really any one of the Weasley children, the family having seemingly taken him, both literally and figuratively, considering Molly's hugs, to their bosoms. The younger boys – the twins and Ron - argued that his pig-headedness had ensured he'd stay sane, while the two eldest made sly references to the many women he would have abandoned.

There were, of course, other reasons that Sirius had kept his mind, when so few others left the Wizarding prison with any sense of self. His worry for his Godson, Harry, had certainly been an important factor. So too, had the lingering questions over his missing brother, certainly Regulus had carried the Dark Mark, but as far as Sirius knew, nobody had seen his brother for two years before his own imprisonment and although he might have expected to share a cell block with his brother, who perhaps had been captured earlier in the war, there was no sign of Regulus in Azkaban.

Remus was the only one who knew what was arguably the biggest reason that Sirius had kept his sanity. The only one who knew that throughout his thirteen years imprisoned, with no human contact other than snarling Death Eater scum, with scarce rations of food and chilling winter nights, that Sirius's thoughts had been on little Peter Pettigrew.

Peter's motives were a constant source of frustration for Sirius. Had he felt unwanted, unloved? Had they, the Marauders made one joke too many, somewhere down the line? When had Peter finally snapped, how could he have switched sides without any one of them noticing? Was it all Sirius' fault?

In truth, Sirius had always been self-centred, and thus it was the last question that played on his mind. Locked in his cell, he painstakingly recalled each and every conversation, and interaction he had had with Peter, from the day the Marauders had met, in that tiny compartment in the back of the Hogwarts Express, up until the very last time, when he had watched the blasting curse arc up and hit the gas line as rat-Peter slipped away into the shadows.

Sirius remembered all of them. Each time he had pointed out the rubber tyre that Peter carried around his waist, as fond of sweets as the rest of them, but James and Sirius had burned off the sugar through Quidditch, and poor Remus never seemed to put on a pound, expending so much energy fighting with the Wolf each month ensured his lean figure. Sirius worried his teeth over his bottom lip, reliving sixth year, when Peter had fallen in lust with Mary MacDonald, and the girl had turned him down flat. More than that though, he could almost feel the words he had said spilling out of his mouth – why should a woman want fat little Peter though? - never had be been more sure that he had been a despicable youth as he remembered the look on Peter's face when he was caught in a broom closet with Mary.

Yes, Sirius had said horrible things to Peter, but Peter had never breathed a word of resentment, not to him. Not to James either, who would have told him, and not to Remus, that he knew of either. Surely Peter had to have known that it was all joking, between friends? Surely he should have known that all it would take was a request for Sirius to stop?

These thoughts echoed around Sirius' mind for the first year, or three of Azkaban. It was difficult to keep track of time there, but, sometime after the second cold season he'd weathered in the prison, his thinking began to change. Perhaps it was watching the other prisoners begin to receive visitors, that made him question himself, question why, exactly nobody ever came to see him.

Had his tongue really been so cruel, and his pranks so wicked that not a single person cared enough to speak with him, even? And so, Sirius thought back once more, to consider how he might have reacted had Peter asked him to stop. With the clear vision that comes only from hindsight, Sirius knew that at fifteen, he wouldn't have stopped. If anything, the teasing would have gotten worse. So Peter had been smart not to say anything to him.

Still, Sirius could not pinpoint the time at which Peter had turned his back on them. Was there one incident that had precipitated the double cross? Or were there a string of reasons, all linked in together? Had Peter woken up one morning, and decided to fight for the other side? Or had it happened slowly, insidiously, passing on meaningless information until suddenly his best friends were dead?

Sirius spent years three to seven of his time locked away trying to find, in his memory, the very moment in which Peter betrayed them. In those four years, Sirius could never narrow the time frame down very much. It was after school, of course, before then Peter had all but ignored the war, but clearly some months before what had befallen James and Lily. Between June 1978, and August 1981. And there were moments in that time, when Peter had been missing, but they hadn't worried overly. When the fat little boy had smirked, and told them he was with a woman, they had cheered him for it, proud that their friend was finally a man!

But Sirius remembered that Mary MacDonald had gone missing in 1980. She'd been stolen from her home one cold February morning, her body recovered, beaten and torn in May. Her recently deceased body, found mid-May. Had that been Peter? Had he grown so resentful of his first love, who had so casually rejected him, that he had been the instrument of her demise? Sirius couldn't be sure. He hated that he didn't know.

The uncertainty tore at his ravaged mind, and he spent much of year eight as Padfoot, where the pain couldn't touch his canine consciousness. The dementors, of course, didn't notice, a warm body was a warm body, and as long as it stayed in the cell, they had no cause for concern, and with his enhanced hearing, he ensured that the guards – on the rare occaisions they walked the prison, saw only Sirius Black, the human.

Sirius's ninth year was spent in near silence. The guards became used to seeing Sirius sat in the corner of his pallet, legs crossed and eyes closed. Several of them smiled, pleased to see another gone mad. In truth, Sirius had focused his mind to imagining new situations – things he should have said, what might have happened had he not made certain jokes or played certain pranks. Every interaction with Peter, he envisioned again and again, subtle changes to his wording, moments to simply be quiet and still instead of loud and brash and rude, oh so very rude.

A crazed wizard, brought in for assault gave Sirius the date in his tenth year in Azkaban. September 1991, the month that would see Harry's first year at Hogwarts. And, ten years into his life sentence Sirius allows himself to dream, to dream of a future that might have been, had he not been so stupid. Had he trusted himself, had he seen the true face of Peter... Things he has dwelt on for too long. But now he imagines how life might have been different.

Would Lily have had a second son, a baby brother for Harry to play with, or a daughter for James to dote on? Harry, surely, would be a marauder, well versed in pranking long before he was old enough to follow through, his father's son in all things. He'd still be a momma's boy though, Sirius was sure. Just like his father, baby Harry had never been able to tear his eyes from Lily Potter. Uncle Remus, and Uncle Sirius would have babysat, let Lily and James go out dancing, free from war and free from fear. And they'd have to pull Harry out of Sirius's arms, because Sirius, in the damp, dark cell of Azkaban makes a promise to himself that Harry will never leave his arms again.

When Sirius next noticed time had passed, it was a Ministry Inspection. Fudge, the bumbling idiot trotting ahead of two Aurors.

"Junior Fudge, what a surprise to see you here!" Sirius had been surprised at how much his own voice rasped, but then, it had been a long time since he'd been interested enough in the world to speak.

"It's Minister Fudge, to you." The fat man had sneered down at him, nearly dropping his newspaper in the process. "At least one of us has gone up in the world."

"Or perhaps the world has gotten worse without me." Sirius grinned out, teeth bared enough that Fudge took a hurried step back. "Finished with that paper are you?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"I miss doing the crossword. Keeps my brain ticking over, but you wouldn't know about using your brain, would you Fudgie?" Sirius was still laughing as the paper, well aimed, hit him in the face, nearly knocking him over backwards.

"Filthy Death Eater." One of the Aurors spat into his cell as Fudge scampered away, but Sirius didn't care. He laid out on the floor, hugging the paper to his chest. It might even have been days before he looked at it properly, but once he did, once he saw the picture on the front page of the Daily Prophet Sirius knew that Azkaban wouldn't be able to hold him. Not when Harry, his godson, was in danger.

 _He's at Hogwarts._

He whispered to himself as he set aside his food, refusing to eat.

 _He's at Hogwarts_.

He hummed, tearing sheets to tie around his feet.

 _He's at Hogwarts_.

Peter was there, in that photograph. Wormtail. Sat on the shoulder of the boy, the Weasley. A Gryffindor, the caption had said. Back at Hogwarts come September. To Hogwarts, where Harry was. Sirius couldn't let Peter hurt Harry. Not again. This would be it, his final reckoning, if needs must. He'd do everything he could to save Harry. To fix everything, as much as it could ever be fixed.

Every night he tested, as Padfoot, if he was thin enough to fit through the bars. And he was too wide, too wide, too wide- and then- suddenly he was through! Loping cautiously down long corridors, staying low, staying in the shadows. Following his nose, following the scent of fresh air, the scent of freedom.

He told Harry later, that it was thoughts of him, thoughts of his godson that spurred him on to swim for hours in the freezing cold water. He never told anybody it wasn't true. Sirius spent 7 hours swimming with one name in his mind, Peter's. Peter, Peter, Peter. He kicked out at the stressed syllable at the start of the name, again and again. And when his paws touched land, he walked to the rhythm of Peter.

When he finally came face to face with the man, his mind was a blur. It'd been days since he'd eaten anything substantial. Moony had shared his memory of the conversation later, but Sirius himself remembered little.

"I'll never understand why I didn't see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who'd look after you, didn't you?" Sirius remembered saying. His years in Azkaban, organising his thoughts and recollections on Peter, and now he would finally get his answers.

But Peter didn't answer. Peter had never answered a straight question in his life. Always weaselling out of difficulties, running away from his problems.

And then, suddenly they were running, and there was a werewolf, and he was Padfoot again, searching, searching for the rat, hoping he wouldn't get away.

But he did. Peter had disappeared, along with any chance for Sirius to get his answers.

And so, safely ensconced in Grimmauld Place, Sirius sat, and thought of Peter.

HBP - HBP - HBP - HBP - HBP -

To anyone reading this, I am aware it's been a while since I last posted anything. I'm hoping to get going with updates to some of my other fics sooner rather than later, however I am currently writing my dissertation, so I won't promise quick updates. Thank you for reading, and supporting me.


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